


Community Service

by Broba



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Autism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Other, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4342163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broba/pseuds/Broba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad kid Dean Winchester is given one chance to avoid a potentially disasterous felony charge- community service. But when he finds out the specifics of his punishment it turns out that he has a new kid to look after. A strange kid in school no one really understands, with strange habits and weird beliefs.</p><p>Random prompt from fanfiction.net! I just liked the idea. Teen Dean meets autistic Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A police cruiser rolled up the short drive to a small, wood-sided house on one storey at the end of a drive set back far enough from the road that privacy was assured. Not that there would have been any chance of any sense of neighbourliness or community on this road. It was more an asphalt path from the refinery outside of town leading back toward civilisation that happened to have a few people living alongside its' length.  
  
Two cops escorted a young man to the door, where he angrily shrugged off the paternal hand one of them put on his shoulder while the other knocked. The door was answered by a gruff, bearded man with a haunted, wary expression. He eyed the cops from head to toe one at a time, and only when he seemed satisfied with their appearance did he turn his attention on the boy they were escorting. He nodded brusquely.  
“Dean.”  
“Dad.”  
“Something you need to tell me, boy?”  
  
Before Dean could speak up one of the cops held up a hand.  
“Mister Winchester?”  
“Yeah, that's me.”  
“Your boy got caught lifting goods from an electronics store.”  
“That right?”  
“Again.”  
“Seems like that's the kind of thing that would settle a kid in trouble, wouldn't it?”  
The cops looked at each other for a moment. One of them was obviously new on the job, and remaining silent. He deferred to the older cop who was doing all the talking.  
“That's right, sir. Your boy could get into a lot of trouble, this isn't like it's his first strike.”  
“See there's the thing,” John Winchester smiled, stroking a hand across his chin thoughtfully, “if that were the case- I mean if you actually had a solid lick of evidence- I happen to know that we would be having this conversation in lock-up down town. And yet here we are, enjoying the fine night air on my doorstep.”  
That discomfited the two. Between them Dean snickered nastily, until he caught a glance off his dad and shut up quick.  
“Sir,” the older cop removed his hat and sighed, “no one wants things to go that way. It's a load of extra work for us, and it surely means a black mark on the boy's record that ain't going to just go away.”  
John smiled wanly at that for a moment, before nodding.  
“I see.”  
“So this time, we're not bringing your boy in.”  
“I thought so.”  
John turned aside to let Dean past him into the house, but as the boy moved the cop spoke again, quickly.  
“On thing, though.”  
“Yeah?”  
“All right, you got us. Up at county they ain't got anything to pin on him except another misdemeanour, which isn't going to count for very much right about now,”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“But the judge, she ain't of a mind to just go easy on the boy. She's signed a court order,”  
“What kind of a court order?”  
“Community service. Your boy fulfils the order and he gets off with a warning.”  
“And if he didn't?”  
“Well then,” the cop shrugged casually, “he'd be in breach of a court ordered community service term.”  
“Don't tell me- that might just push things over the line into a felony.”  
“Just might,” the cop replaced his hat and saluted, handing over a document which John took warily, “think on it, sir? Your son's appointed councillor will be expecting him after school tomorrow. It's all in the paper.”  
“Thank you kindly,” John replied. As the cops turned back down the drive and sped away in the cruiser he grunted, “thank you kindly indeed.”  
  
In the lounge Dean had already thrown himself at the couch and was holding court, the new lord of misrule, while his kid brother insisted on hearing every details of the great adventure. John slouched into his favourite chair thoughtfully and unfolded the court order he had been given, reading slowly. Dean just grinned over at him and gave him a 'what's the problem?' grin, the way he had a hundred times before.  
“Dean.”  
As soon as their dad said it, both of the boys knew that there was trouble coming. John Winchester was like a steel-grey cloud on the horizon, and his boys knew how to taste in the wind when the cloud was about to become a raging thunderhead.  
“Dad?”  
“You know what this is?”  
Dean glanced about and licked his lips, “it's no big deal, it's just a bunch'a crap, same as always.”  
John leaned forward, punctuating his every word with thrusts of the folded court order that he held like a baton.  
“What's my one rule? Before anything else, what is the one rule I always pressed on you boys?”  
They both answered in tandem, “don't get in the system.”  
“You're damn right. And this is you-” he pointed it directly at Dean, who visibly recoiled, “falling straight down deep into the middle of it. You get pulled up on felony charges in court, the next thing is they start asking questions. A lot of them. Questions we can't have asked, and can't have answered. You following me, boy?”  
“Jeez,” Dean grunted under his breath, “it was just a toaster-oven. You said we needed one, and you can make pie in those things too. It's not like they even caught me with it, they just pinned the whole thing on me.”  
“Dean. Understand- I'm not mad you tried to do something for your family- even though stealing is... well we aren't quite there yet. I'm mad you got caught.”  
“They can't prove-”  
“They don't have to prove a damn thing now! You got a court order on your head boy, and the second you step out of line they got a whole stack of other crap they can drop on you now!”  
At the opposite end of the couch and receding fast, Sam finally got up the nerve to speak.  
“Are we going to move again?”  
“No we are not,” John said it with a note of grim finality, “because your brother is going to do about damn anything he gets told to until this community service is up. No more rocking the boat, no more waves. You understanding me, boy?”  
“Yeah dad, I get it, fine,” Dean  was flushed, an unwelcome blaze of embarrassment blossoming over his features.  
  
\- - -  
  
The counsellor's office was part of an annex built onto the administrative block of the school. It was a place where kids got sent when they were not merely bad, but bad in a way that was legally accountable. This was where things became serious, where the system got involved. Dean had always known, from the first day in this podunk town and his first hour in the low-rent school, that sooner or later he would be taking a visit there. He was only surprised it had taken them so long- eventually the authorities always figured out that they were dealing with a bad one, but by the time they did anything about it the Winchesters had usually decamped to parts unknown.  
  
Dean had been excused from half of afternoon class just to ensure that he was there on time, sitting on a moulded orange plastic chair in front of a door with a frosted glass window and something only vaguely legible stencilled upon it. Dean had spent the last fifteen minutes staring at the door, but no matter how he scrunched up his eyes he couldn't quite read what was written there. Eventually, after a carefully measured and calculated eternity, a buzzer went off upon the desk of an infinitely bored and callous secretary who gave Dean a nod.  
“He'll see you now.”  
“Yeah?” Dean pushed himself to his feet and adjusted the collar of his leather jacket with an insouciant scowl, “sure he's not too busy?”  
“For you, honey? Never.”  
Dean glanced over, but the secretary was already nose-deep in a file, ignoring him.  
  
Dean stepped into the office, a shabby affair dominated by a weirdly ornate wooden desk which seemed to be the only authentic thing in the place including the other occupant. Behind the desk stood a man in a black suit who had been reading through a manilla folder. He walked around to the front, putting the folder down and grinning. He had the sort of ruddy, round face that looked as though it was grinning all the time, even and especially perhaps when he wasn't.  
“Hello, Dean.”  
The accent was British, but not in the cut-glass way Dean had seen in Bond movies. It was a dirty, gritty accent. Dean nodded, determined to meet the man's gaze. He leaned to the side, glancing at the brass name plate stood on the desk.  
“Mister Crowley.”  
“It's pronounced.... Crowley.”  
“Sure thing.”  
“I've been waiting quite a while for this opportunity. In fact you might say I've been the very soul of patience, ah-ha.”  
Crowley turned without explaining himself and sat behind his desk, inviting Dean into one of the waiting chairs opposite.  
“So what's all this about?”  
“Did you read the court order?”  
“My dad did.”  
“Ah, of course. He read it, and so you are here. Right on time and everything.”  
“I don't even know why I'm here, so could we, like, cut the crap? Could we just do that, and then get on with the day? Because,” Dean gestured, encompassing the whole office, “I got nothing for you, man. I have no idea what you think I'm going to be doing.”  
“Dean, Dean, Dean. Do you even know what this is all about?”  
“A stupid court thing?”  
“It's about society.”  
“Society?”  
“Society.” Crowley nodded, steepling his fingers, carefully pressing one fingertip to another in turn as he spoke, “society. You see, society is nothing more then a series of deals. I pay my taxes- and someone comes every Tuesday to take away my garbage. Someone fixes the roads, someone keeps the lights on. That's a deal. You kids come to school every day, and you get taught the righteous, puffed up crap that we adults think you ought to know in life. That's another deal. Deal upon deal upon deal, all linking together in one grand structure all made out of-”  
“Deals?”  
“Agreements.”  
Dean was starting to get the impression that the councillor was not entirely put together. But, that said, Dean couldn't argue with the specifics of anything he was being told.  
“Yeah? So what?”  
“So, Dean-o, here's what I do. I get sent kids like you- kids who are, and I hope I'm not being too blunt here- on the last spin around the plug-hole before the big drop. And I make a deal, and maybe things work out better for everyone.”  
“This is all to do with the courts, right? Community service?”  
“You hit the nail right on the proverbial, my lad. Community. And what is a community made out of?”  
“Agreements?”  
“Contracts!”  
Crowley produced an impressively legal looking document with a flourish and directed Dean's attention to the bottom line, a space waiting for a signature.  
“I sign this, and the court is satisfied that you have fulfilled your community service. All of this whole nastiness just... goes away.”  
“O-kay,” Dean glared up at Crowley warily, “and you're going to sign it?”  
“Sure I am, nothing would give me more shivers. But first, you get to do your part. I have a little favour for you to do for me, Mean Dean.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, now they were getting to it at last.  
“Okay. So what do I got to do? You need your car washing?”  
“Dean,” Crowley favoured him with an amused stare, “I wouldn't trust you around an automobile to save my soul. Come on, we're going for a little walk.”  
  
\- - -  
  
Crowley led the way directly to the library, silent at this time of the day when lessons were beginning to wind down. The place was little more then a very, very large room divided up by the walls and stacks of books arranged in neatly ordered shelves. Crowley seemed to know exactly where he was going and strode smartly to the very back, where the overhang of the second floor above them, reached by spiral staircase, formed a naturally shadowed area lit only by slots of light from the windows that slanted between the bookshelves. At the back in what was generally referred to as the study area a kid Dean's age was ferociously reading. He was frowning intensely as he scanned over each page, turning them with mechanical rhythm. Dean and Crowley stopped and watched for a little while, and Crowley started counting, just about audibly, under his breath. It took thirty-two seconds for the kid to read a page. Each page, thirty-two.  
  
Dean frowned and nudged Crowley with an elbow.  
“So what am I looking at?”  
“My little favour. I want you to look after him for me, just for a week or two. Help him out, talk to him. Be a best buddy. That kind of thing.”  
“Seriously?”  
“Seriously. I told you, kids get sent to me when they have problems, and Castiel has problems.”  
“He looks fine.”  
“Sure he does. Nice clothes, good hair cut. Very prestigious family, I might add. But did you know he's actually in your class?”  
“He is?”  
“Has been all year. Never attends. Castiel doesn't... do well with people. Doesn't seem to understand them,” Crowley leaned over conspiratorially and whispered, “between you and me it's a head thing. Something not quite right up there. What me ole mum used to call one ha'penny shy of a sixpence piece.”  
“You talk weird, you know that? Are you really a councillor?”  
“Are you going to stand here asking me silly questions, or get to work? Chop chop, that little piece of paper isn't signing itself.”  
“I'm no good at this!” Dean gesticulated, hissing, “look at him! What makes you think I know how to deal with this kind of crap?”  
“You two are a perfect fit, I could tell as soon as I saw you.”  
“Oh yeah? How come?”  
“You both love to wear your daddy's old coat.”  
  
At the desk, Castiel calmly closed the book he had been reading and stood up. He had neatly folded a beige raincoat over the back of his chair, which he now put on- it was a few sizes too big for him. He walked towards them toward the exit, pausing to stare gravely at Crowley for a moment, and then at Dean. He didn't say anything at all though, he just walked past them.  
“Anyways,” Crowley coughed, “good luck. And remember, I'll be watching.”  
“You know what? You're a real creepy guy, Crowley.”  
“Yeah, that's the other thing my ole mum used to say.”  
  
\- - -  
  
Dean made his way out of school and immediately homed in on Castiel. He had never seen a kid wear a raincoat before, especially with the weather so warm at the height of summer, and it made Castiel easy to pick out at a distance. The boy was walking directly towards the school gates across from the school parking lot. Dean noticed that Castiel wouldn't walk around the parked rows of cars, but instead insisted on winding his way between them in a roughly diagonal course that pointed towards his destination even if it meant more effort getting there.  
  
“Hey! Cas! I'm Dean! I'm in your class? Wait up, I need to talk to you.”  
Dean ran up and gripped Castiel's elbow lightly, and the boy stopped dead as if he had been poleaxed. He actually went rigid, and let out what could only be described as a low but urgent groan. Dean recoiled, taking a step back.  
“Don't like to be touched huh? Uh, that's cool I guess.”  
Castiel didn't answer him. He spent a moment gathering his breath, and then started to walk again. Dean jogged up beside him, grinning amiably.  
“Okay, so here's the thing. I kind of have to look after you okay? Oh man that sounds lame even to me. It's true though! It's a court thing.”  
  
Castiel still wasn't answering him, and by now they had left the school grounds. Dean assumed that the day was pretty much over by that point anyway, and he knew his kid brother was smart enough to get himself home and even make dinner if necessary, so he kept on following Castiel who seemed insistent on following a very specific route. Dean tried another tactic, one which had worked many times in the past when he needed to make an impression quickly, which was to point out exactly how much of a badass he was.  
“So yeah, it's like a court order. Because of this thing, I got in trouble with the cops. Yeah, they had to take me home to my dad, and I was all, like, what's up? And my dad was all, like, yeah.”  
  
Dean jogged up in front of Castiel, who waited patiently for him to get out of the way.  
“Basically I got cop trouble. So now I got to look after you.”  
At long last, Castiel spoke. His voice was throaty and rough, as though he had not practised often.  
“Cop trouble?”  
“Yeah!” Dean pulled himself up from where he had been doubled over resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath, “jeez, you walk fast. Yeah. I'm trouble all over. I got caught stealing-”  
Suddenly Castiel reached out, gripping Dean's wrist firmly. His expression, the semi-permanent frown with his habit of examining people from different angles, moving his head back and forth like a bird, made him seem almost comically intense.  
“You shouldn't steal. It is wrong.”  
“Yeah well, uh, sometimes you got to do what you got to do, you know?”  
“Thou shalt not steal.”  
“Oh yeah? Oh yeah?” Dean was starting to get tired of all of this strangeness, “or else what?”  
“Or else my father shall open up a pit of burning brimstone at the end of times, into which shall be plunged the sinners to burn for all eternity.”  
Dean blinked. The sheer earnestness of Castiel was certainly something, “all that over a toaster-oven?”  
“I... yes.”  
“You're really something you know that Cas? Where do you get all that religious stuff anyway, you a Jesus freak or something?”  
Castiel didn't meet his gaze, just staring off into the distance somewhere.  
“I am an angel of the Lord, Dean.”  
  
Castiel marched onward and Dean groaned, running a hand through his hair.  
“This is just perfect,” he said to no-one. “Now he's a freaking angel all of a sudden. Sure, that makes sense. Hey Cas! Wait up!”  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Castiel remained as recalcitrant as ever no matter what Dean tried. He was uninterested in anything Dean could think of, there seemed to be no way in. When Dean talked about girls Castiel just stared at him. When he talked about cars, or sports, or anything else he could think of Castiel gave the impression of listening politely without ever really engaging or, really, understanding. By the end of the week Dean had spent every spare moment he could in the library or else the other secluded areas that Castiel seemed to haunt and all to no avail. In the end, he started to realise that Castiel, for all his strangeness, was more then capable of expressing that he simply didn't want Dean around.  
  
Their first conversation still haunted Dean, though. Castiel had plainly and bluntly stated that he was an angel of the Lord. There was no way to misinterpret that statement, and Dean frankly didn't know what to do with the information. He had tried pressing Castiel on the matter, and for his trouble he had been rewarded with a page of neatly handwritten script in some kind of gibberish language he had never seen before. Castiel handed it to him with the usual earnest frown as though it would explain everything, and Dean just added it to his mental file of bizarre behaviour that he had witnessed.  
  
On that Friday afternoon Dean marched straight into the annex and demanded to see his councillor. To his surprise, he was informed that Mr Crowley had an opening in his schedule and would be happy to see him. Dean was wary at first, he had expected far more of a fight about it.  
  
“Mean Dean!” Crowley welcomed him in with open arms and a broad, devilish grin, “how does the day find you? Thank you-know-who it's Friday, am I right? 'Course I am, you know it makes sense.”  
“Listen, could I talk to you about something?”  
“Of course, of course, my office is always open.” Crowley sat down behind his desk and made a point of adopting a serious, listening expression, “I am always here for you Dean.”  
“It's this stupid job you got me on,”  
“Yes?”  
“It's freakin' driving me crazy, man! I can't take it any more! Just give me something else to do, I don't even care. Whatever.”  
“What's this? Giving up so soon? I expected you to be a lot more determined.”  
“You've seen Cas, right? You know what he's like. What am I supposed to do? I did everything you asked, and he still treats me like a piece of crap he's trying not to stand in.”  
“Oh, everything asked?”  
“Sure. Look after him, be a buddy, all that crap.”  
“Dean,” Crowley leaned his chin on his hand and with the other scratched his cheek reflectively as he spoke, “what exactly did you take my meaning to be?”  
Dean frowned. There was a trap here, he could sense it. “I dunno. Like you said, I go up to him, try to talk and stuff. You know, usual stuff.”  
  
Crowley nodded and reached into his desk drawer fore a file, which he read through rapidly.  
“You have a little brother, yes?”  
“Sammy? Sure.”  
“You look after him, right?”  
“Well, yeah, of course,” Dean's hand went to his neck briefly, brushing over something small and hard hanging around his neck under his shirt.  
“Do you walk up to him every hour of the day and yell in his face, demanding a conversation?”  
“No,”  
“Well then, it seems to me you've not been coming at your task with the right sort of an attitude.”  
“What's that supposed to mean?”  
“Look after Castiel. I don't want you to get the latest bloody football scores from him, I want you to make a contact.”  
“I don't think I know what you're talking about.”  
“Next time you see him, I want you to imagine your little brother is there.”  
“For real?”  
“Just give it a try. Would you do that for me, Dean?”  
“This whole thing is getting pretty freaking weird.”  
“Take it from someone who knows. Life isn't getting any more sensible from here on out. Now get to it, there's a good lad.”  
  
Dean was ushered calmly but with a certain firmness from the office, and only afterwards did he realise he had forgotten to mention all the stuff about angels and funny looking picture-writing. Crowley had a certain way of directing the conversation along the rails he had laid down, and it was remarkably difficult to get a word in edgeways even when he never seemed to raise his voice or change his calm, soft tone.  
  
\- - -  
  
Dean was still thinking about what he had been told in the office when he next ran into Castiel, leaving school.  
“Wait up,” he sighed, moving into step beside his charge.  
Dean went over everything Crowley said, frowning and kicking at stones in silence as he walked beside Castiel, who as ever barely registered his presence.  
  
They marched on in silence through the town, and Dean was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't bother trying to engage in another inane, one-sided conversation. He thought for a moment that he caught Castiel glancing at him, just a motion out of the corner of his eye. He looked across and just nodded. Castiel frowned and glared at the ground.  
  
They were coming to the main road that led through town, and at the time in the afternoon when traffic started to pick up. Dean felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and examined it. Sam was calling.  
“Yeah, what is it Sammy?”  
Castiel looked at him and stopped walking, but Dean indicated with a gesture that they should keep moving as he talked into the phone.  
  
Dean began running a hand through his hair repeatedly as he listened to what he was told.  
“Okay slow down, just- I know- tell me exactly what he said... All right, I guess it's just us then 'till he gets back. Just sit tight, I'll make you something to eat when I get home.”  
  
He put away the phone and pinched at the bridge of his nose. On top of everything else he had to deal with, now his father had been called away on one of the many mysterious jobs that seemed to drag him around at random intervals. Dean was used to the routine by now but that didn't make things easier, it just meant that he had to look after all of Sam's needs as well as taking care of the mute angel frowning at him.  
  
Dean just sighed and marched onwards, and was halted when Castiel put an arm out with shocking speed, slapping his hand down against Dean's chest. Dean barely had time to look up and formulate an angry retort when his breath was snatched away by the passing of a truck mere inches from him. He had been about to step straight into the road when Castiel reacted.  
  
Dean finally got his breath under control, and stared at Castiel wide-eyed.  
“Jesus Christ!”  
“Dean. Are you taking the name of the Lord, your God's, name in vain or calling upon divine aid?”  
“Which is the good one? The second one?”  
Castiel just grunted, and lowered his hand.  
  
“Uh, listen,” Dean swallowed, “thanks, man.”  
“It is my duty to watch over humans.”  
“This again, huh?”  
Castiel just watched him, calmly, as if nothing had happened. Dean grabbed his shoulder, ignoring the groan Castiel made in response and grinned widely.  
“Well I'm glad you're watching out, Cas. You just pulled me out of something, there.”  
Castiel nodded slowly.  
“Cas? Where do you live, anyway?”  
Castiel mutely lifted an arm and pointed in the direction of an elevated quarter of town where the wood and brick town-houses rapidly gave way to the more affluent maisonettes and upper-class dwellings.  
  
Dean shaded his eyes and looked.  
“Huh. Makes sense. I guess you have maids and cooks and stuff waiting for you, right?”  
“No, just me, and my brothers.”  
“You got brothers?”  
Castiel nodded slowly.  
“Me too. Sammy. I kinda look after him a lot.”  
“Uhm.”  
Dean waited patiently until it was clear that nothing further would be forthcoming, and made encouraging go-on go-on gestures.  
“I told you a thing, how about you tell me a thing now? What's your brother's called anyways?”  
“Michael. Gabriel. And,” Castiel hesitated, drawing his teeth together with a soft click and looking away at something else for a moment, “...others.”  
“See? I say something, you say something, it works right?”  
“It works. Right.”  
Dean gave him a sideways look and pointed a thumb over his shoulder.  
“Well I'm this way. I got to make dinner for my little brother, so I got to go.”  
Castiel nodded slowly.  
“So, goodbye Cas.”  
“Goodbye, Dean.”  
  
Dean nodded and turned to walk toward his place. It was, all told, a start. Not much, but a start.  
  
\- - -  
  
That evening found Dean desperately trying to wrangle what felt like a hundred spinning plates at once. The stove had a pot of boiling water on it that was threatening to bubble over and Dean ripped open a ramen packet and dumped the contents in. Meanwhile the microwave announced angrily that it had finished a small sack of popcorn that had been one of the few edible things he had been able to scrounge up. However, the smell from the microwave was anything but wholesome and something had gone wrong, part of the popcorn bag was now an angry, burned black.  
  
“Sam!”  
Dean yelled but there was no answer, he could hear the television in the lounge well enough though.  
“Sammy! Get your ass in here and give me a hand!”  
“What?”  
This was the nature of the game. Sam would pretend not to hear, and then pretend not to quite understand, and finally just play for time until there was no more point even trying to help out because the food was done. Dean was starting to wonder how their dad put up with it, and congratulated himself inwardly on his own patience.  
“Sammy! I mean it!”  
  
Dinner time in the Winchester household was a somewhat chaotic affair at the best of times. John Winchester believed that meal time was the brief moment in the day when everything paused to refuel and refresh just as quickly and fully as possible before getting back to more important things. As a marine he had been trained to eat everything he could get his hands on, keep his energy up, and not wait around for the usual niceties of convention. The boys had learned from this philosophy well, but after a long and trying day Dean was finding himself living on his very last nerve.  
  
“Sam!”  
Dean practically screamed, dropping a pan full of steaming and wet ramen onto the table. It was still glutinous and too hard. He followed it with a bowl of half-burned popcorn he haphazardly tossed some salt over.  
“Get your ass in here now or there's nothing for you!”  
  
Sam appeared in the kitchen, smiling happily and moving greedily toward the food.  
“I didn't hear you.”  
“Bull,” Dean sighed, “get eating.”  
“What even is this?”  
“It's food. You don't want any?”  
“Is there anything to go... with it?”  
“Sure. We got-” Dean glanced around, “bread... peanut-butter sandwiches. That's what else.”  
“Okay.”  
  
They made the most of it, and ate well. By the time they were finished the table was a disaster area but they had full bellies and no regret.  
“Dean?”  
“Yeah Sammy.”  
“When do you think dad's getting home?”  
“I dunno. Did he say anything else?”  
“Nah. Just what I told you, it was a job.”  
“Then I guess he's getting home when he's getting home.”  
Sam grinned. “I kind of like it, when it's just us. We can do what we want.”  
“Yeah, you wouldn't like it if dad wasn't here,” Dean answered vaguely, not really thinking.  
“You'd still look after me, right?”  
“Sure, Sammy.”  
“Can we stay up and watch movies?”  
“Sure.”  
“All night?”  
“Only if there's something good on.”  
  
\- - -  
  
By the morning Dean woke up feeling as though he hadn't really slept at all. He had vague memories of getting into a marathon of terrible slasher flicks with Sam but then things had become vague and hazy as the sleepiness took hold. He pulled himself off the couch where he had dropped to sleep and rubbed at the back of his neck with a heartfelt groan of aching pain. Sam was already waiting in the kitchen, quietly working his way through a bowl of cereal. When Dean slouched in, Sam pushed a second bowl toward him and indicated with a nod where their last carton of milk stood on the counter.  
“Thanks, Sammy.”  
“We're just about out of milk, and a load of other stuff.”  
“I know. I'll head out and pick up some supplies.”  
“You look like crap.”  
Dean smirked and flattened his hair into something approaching respectability, “bitch.”  
“Jerk.”  
  
Across town there was a strip of generic stores with a few of the box-brand places, and this was well established as basically the shopping hub of the entire town. Dean made his way there on foot, intending to save part of his limited resources for a bus ride home. Their dad always left them a supply of money in a cigar box under the nightstand in his room, but they knew all about it and raided it regularly leaving them with little to use in an actual emergency.  
  
Dean went from place to place, keeping his head down and purchasing as cheaply as he could. He was worried that the store keepers were starting to recognise him and the last thing he needed was any trouble on a day when he was genuinely attempting to avoid any larcenous activity at all, for once.  
  
He was struggling under two stuffed paper sacks when he saw something familiar in the distance, a flash of beige that could only be a shabby old raincoat. He squinted, and saw Castiel just standing in the middle of the street, looking uncomfortable. He seemed to be waiting for something, and didn't really know what to do. Dean rolled his eyes and started making his way down the strip toward his strange friend. Castiel didn't notice him coming, or more likely simply didn't respond if he had seen Dean at all.  
  
As he came closer, Dean saw that he was not the only one approaching Castiel. Several boys from school, slouching around the strip on a Saturday morning with nothing better to do, converged on him. Dean couldn't hear, but it was obvious from their body language that they were giving Castiel a hard time and he wasn't responding to them. They were cruel, he knew them. Or, at least, he knew their type. He'd seen guys like them in every place he had been across more states then he cared to remember and they were always the same, all of them. Dean knew with a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach what was coming, and that Castiel was defenceless.  
“Hey!” Dean yelled, and then he dropped the sacks and started running, “hey!”  
  
Castiel groaned bitterly as one of the boys in the gang of four of them shoved him. He stumbled back but kept his feet, and just stared down at the ground. Castiel couldn't make out what they were saying, there was too much noise and too much light, and it was simply more then he could understand. He just heard rising and falling tones and he knew from experience that these were probably angry people, but he didn't know how to respond. He just swayed, trying to keep his balance as he was pushed and shoved. The bullies thought that he was mocking them, with the way he would stare, then look away, and refuse to answer them.  
“Hey weirdo,” one of them sneered, “you too good for us? You never even bother showing up in class with the rest,”  
“Yeah,” another agreed, “he lives up on the hill I heard.”  
“Oh yeah? Up on the hill? I guess that means you're rich. You got anything for me, rich boy? Show me some money.”  
Castiel shook his head, he didn't understand what they wanted from him. He grunted as he was pushed again, harder this time, and it hurt. Every time he felt a hand on him it was like a burning, bright thing that scorched him through his clothes and he hated it. He began to recite the names of all of his brothers in the celestial order under his breath. Then, someone hit him.  
  
Castiel stared up at the sky. His eye burned and watered, and made things hard to see. He held his hand up to his face and touched gently. The skin was hot and angry where he had been punched and Castiel realised that he was on his back. There was noise around him, but the people who had been there before crowding around him seemed to be doing something else now. Castiel slowly sat up and looked around him, and to his surprise the person who had been yelling at him was now yelling at someone else. Castiel squinted.  
“Dean?”  
  
The boy yelled and screamed, but it was no good. Dean had his wrist in one hand, twisted savagely, and the other was braced against his shoulder, holding his arm in a wicked, immobile grip.  
“Let go! Jesus! It hurts! It hu-u-u-rts!”  
Dean smiled grimly, and twisted. He had reacted without thinking when he saw Castiel go down, and everything his father had taught him came bubbling up to the surface in a frothing red wave that drowned out all other thoughts. He replied in a mocking tone.  
“Now, are you taking the Lord your God's name in vain? Or are you calling on some kind of divine freakin' aid?”  
“What?” The boy screamed as Dean twisted. He knew well enough how to make sure the arm didn't pop out of it's socket but he could sure as Hell make it feel that way. Dean slowly examined each of the other boys, one at a time, making sure to meet their eyes.  
“Yeah take a good look. Remember my face,” he intoned, “'cause you'll be seeing it again real soon if you don't lay off Cas. You got me?”  
They were all pale and shaking, and  two of them were already stepping back out of the way. Dean had taken down the biggest and toughest of them, and none of the other bullies wanted to try their luck. When Dean finally consented to let go of the one he held down, they all ran without a second thought.  
  
Dean squatted next to Castiel. He knew better then to offer a hand to help him, but he watched the boy get up and slowly dust himself off.  
“Cas.”  
“Dean.”  
“There some reason why you just let them push you around like that?”  
Castiel looked around slowly, and saw the bags that Dean had dropped. All around them, shocked shoppers had paused to look at what was happening, but now their attention was fading. In all, it had only taken a matter of seconds even though it had felt like aeons. Castiel walked stiffly over to the bags and helped Dean refill them neatly.  
  
“I asked you a question, Cas. Back and forth remember? Work with me.”  
“It's my role,” Castiel began gratingly, “to observe humans. I watch, that's all.”  
Dean grinned wryly, “yeah well you already broke that rule once. You didn't just watch me get run down by that truck, remember?”  
Castiel shook his head, “I couldn't.”  
“And I'm not going to let people just pick on you like that.”  
Castiel just nodded stiffly. He picked up one of the bags and stood to attention, watching Dean.  
  
Dean lifted the other bag. Now the adrenaline was wearing off, it seemed so much heavier all of a sudden, and he wasn't sure that his limbs weren't shaking.  
“What? You want to come with me?”  
Castiel just stared at him. “I'll help you. With this.”  
  
From behind them, all of a sudden, came a shout. “Castiel!”  
The two boys turned as one, to see a young man in his early twenties run up to them. The man had loose blonde hair that fell high from his forehead, and a kind cast to his eyes.  
“Castiel! I told you to wait there, where did you get to? What happened?” The man leaned close to examine Castiel's face, pursing his lips in concern but without touching him, “did someone do this to you?”  
Dean coughed softly, “you should see the other guy, though. He's not going to be back.”  
The man looked over at Dean sharply, “and, you are?”  
“Hi. Dean Winchester.”  
The man stood slowly, and let a lazy smile play over his face, offering a hand to the boy. “I'm Gabriel. I've heard a lot about you.”  
“You have?”  
“Well, a sentence. For Castiel that's really something.”  
“Thanks, I guess.”  
Gabriel took in the bags, and the fact that Castiel was holding one of them, with a calculating glance.  
“Listen, you need a lift home? My car is just around the corner. I swear, I left Castiel for just a second.”  
Dean nearly sagged to the ground in gratitude, “oh man, that would be great, thanks!”  
“No problem. Any friend of Castiel is a friend of the family.”  
  
Dean smiled. There was something about Gabriel that made you just want to like him, something immediately amiable that suggested you'd forgive him for anything and Dean had been dreading the journey home with all the shopping. Gabriel gently took the shopping bag Castiel had been holding and led them away.  
“So. You've been talking to Castiel?”  
“I guess. He doesn't like to talk much.”  
“That's certainly true. Isn't that right, Castiel?” Gabriel grinned, but Castiel was characteristically silent on the subject.  
Dean sighed. He was feeling very, very tired.  
“You know, he's an angel of the Lord?”  
“Oh yes,” Gabriel nodded, “it runs in the family.”  
  
He chuckled softly and grinned at Dean, who found himself unaccountably smiling back.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Gabriel liked to drive fast, and he was carefree in his approach to stop signs and lights. His car was European, small and understatedly stylish like him. Dean was crammed in the back next to Castiel and had to cram the bags of groceries between them as an impromptu barrier to ensure that they didn't accidentally touch and set Castiel off again.  
  
As Dean got to know more about Castiel, the strangeness around the boy only deepened. Gabriel was as talkative as Castiel was taciturn and reserved, and on the way home he spoke freely. Castiel was the kid brother of the family, and his brothers had a generally paternal attitude toward him. Dean cautiously asked why it was Cas' brothers who were the ones looking after him, and Gabriel just took the question with a good humoured laugh.  
“It's a bit weird, right? Kind of like we take turns playing dad. Yeah I know what you're going to ask- our dad went away a long time ago, just took off. We don't really know why, just one of those things, you know?”  
Dean did indeed know what it was like when a father was compelled to leave and never gave a good reason why.  
“I guess,” Dean agreed, “sounds rough.”  
“Not really. I mean, we get by just fine. And Michael has always looked after everyone. Even when dad left he was old enough to run things, so nowadays it just feels like things have always been like that.”  
“How many of you even are there?”  
“Seems like it's more then you can count, sometimes!”  
Gabriel laughed. In the back seat next to him, Dean heard Castiel mimic the laugh under his breath.  
  
The car pulled up the long road leading down to the little houses that included the Winchester residence.  
“This is the road, right?”  
“Yeah, it's just a ways down on the left.”  
As Dean got out and awkwardly fetched his bags Gabriel helped him. Just before they got to the door Dean felt a hand on his arm.  
“Dean, could I tell you something?”  
Dean looked at him slantwise and just nodded.  
“Listen, I know this might not even come up or be a thing or anything,” Gabriel clucked his tongue as he groped for words, “but I'd appreciate it if we kept all this stuff today between us.”  
“You mean the fight?”  
“Yeah, if you could call it that. You really kicked that boy's ass! My hero.”  
“Uh, I guess.”  
Dean had turned back toward the door when Gabriel patiently took his arm again.  
“I mean, if Michael ever found out... well, look, I love my brother. All my brothers. But Michael can be... he can be a little bit intense. It would just be better for everyone we kept all this quiet.”  
Dean didn't know quite how to react to that, he just nodded.  
“Okay, sure, I can do that.”  
“Thanks Dean. Listen, you're a good kid. I meant what I said, any friend of Cas is all right with me. Thanks again!”  
  
Now that the pressure seemed to be off Gabriel was visibly more relaxed and he waved happily before turning back to his car. Through the back window Dean could make out Castiel mimicking the gesture, waving forlornly.  
  
“Sammy!” Dean called out as he got the door open at last, “I'm home! I have food. Come help.”  
“What?”  
Again, the games began. Dean sighed and raised his voice.  
“Sammy!”  
  
\- - -  
  
Things were different for Castiel when he came into school the next day, and he wasn't altogether comfortable with that. People had always tended to ignore him, but now they were actively giving him a wide berth. Word had got around school about what Dean had done, and the word was that getting in Castiel's way would be bad for people's health.  
  
Castiel went to his locker as he always did and stowed away his books, a combination of school work and an obscure work on the antiquated writings of John Dee on the subject of angles and their celestial script. He couldn't quite articulate it, but the way that other kids kept watching him, and then quickly darting their eyes away when he looked around discomfited him. It was a change to the routine, and he didn't take to that very well.  
  
“Cas!”  
Dean called out from the end of the corridor, sauntering along at a determined slouch. Castiel watched him approaching, and then nodded gravely.  
“Dean.”  
“You doing okay there? How's the shiner?”  
“Shiner?”  
“Your eye. Is it feeling better? Probably sting for a few days.”  
Castiel thought about it for a moment.  
“This is just a vessel, it will heal.”  
“Uh huh, right,” Dean had given up on trying to work any of that stuff out, he had decided to just roll with it. As Castiel walked away Dean fell into step beside him. There was a decided air of murmuring in the corridor; if there had been any doubt that Castiel had a protector it was now extinguished and no one wanted to mess with the bad kid. The rumours about what Dean had done in the past had, through a natural process of accretion with each telling, been magnified grotesquely by now.  
  
They came to class and Castiel broke off to head for the library as he always did.  
“Cas, hold up.”  
Castiel stopped and turned, staring inquisitively. Dean nodded toward the door.  
“You want to maybe come to class one of these days?”  
“Class.”  
“Yeah, you know. Where kids normally spend the day in school? I have, like, no idea why anyone would spend any time in the library by choice.”  
Castiel ground his teeth audibly for a moment, he was thinking deeply. In the end he just pointed a thumb back over his shoulder.  
“The library.”  
“Uh huh, I get it I guess.”  
“I'll go to the library now.”  
“Sure. Hey maybe I'll see you there? At lunch?”  
Castiel just gave another of his portentously grave nods, and walked away.  
  
Sure enough, at lunchtime Castiel was in his favourite haunt, reading. Dean had made a few discreet enquiries with a few of the teachers and it turned out that Castiel's grades were perfectly adequate, apparently the school had been content to allow him to continue in self-imposed exclusion since he was still, technically, receiving an education.  
  
Dean sat down at the reading table opposite from Castiel. He had come prepared and proceeded to get out a comic book to browse through. He was starting to come to understand the strange rhythms of their conversations and waited patiently for Castiel to be finished with what he was doing. Finally, Castiel closed the book after having studied to the contentment of some pre-determined measure of his own.  
“Dean.”  
“Cas. How's it going?”  
The question was meaningless, and Castiel didn't reply.  
“That well, huh?”  
Castiel just looked at him blankly.  
“Dean.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Things are... different now.”  
“Things?”  
“People. School,” Castiel motioned vaguely, “it's changing.”  
“Well Cas, times change.”  
Castiel frowned at that. He didn't like the idea, but he wasn't able to articulate what he was thinking about very well. Dean looked him over, taking in the way Castiel would reflexively clench and release his fists, the motion of his jaw as he quietly ground at his teeth.  
“Cas, are you saying you want things to go back to how they were? You never spoke to anyone.”  
“I don't know,”  
“Cas.” Dean leaned forwards on his elbows, “look at me, man.”  
“Dean.”  
“This? This is better. Talking is better. Trust me, you got to hold on to people sometimes.”  
“This is better.”  
“That's right. I know it must feel weird for you, what with being an angel of the Lord and all, but even angels need friends.”  
“Angels don't need friends. Angels don't need anything.”  
Dean looked at him steadily, thinking that over, and glanced down into his hands with a sigh.  
“Yeah,” he nodded, “that would make things a lot easier to handle, wouldn't it?”  
“But,” Castiel flexed his jaw and cleared his throat for a moment. “This is better.”  
“Damn right it is,” Dean smirked.  
  
They stayed for a while, not really talking about anything in particular, until the bell signalling the end of lunch went off and Dean got up to go to class. Castiel watched him go, and then selected the next book.  
  
\- - -  
  
The week passed by in a sluggish haze, and things were indeed improving. Dean had got a handle on a series of filling, if not nutritious, meals and was keeping Sam out of trouble, clean and generally presentable. If he did say so himself, he was starting to feel like he was taking care of his business. When he was called to the annex to meet with Crowley he was practically whistling. He sat down in his habitual seat in the waiting area and winked roguishly at the eternally bored secretary. She refused to engage with him, but he could see that she was fighting not to smile a she attended to her work.  
  
When Dean entered his office he found Crowley practising his golf swing in the middle of the room. He had a set of clubs in the corner and was repeatedly swinging a driver and hitting imaginary balls off into the imaginary distance.  
“For this, I have to wait outside?” Dean raised an eyebrow, “you know I can leave you alone if you need a little time to yourself.”  
“Dean! Nonsense, come in come in. It's important to keep your arm in you know. I find that if I don't get in a few swings each day my weekend game does tend to suffer horribly.”  
Dean didn't much like the way Crowley said 'horribly' but let it slide and took a seat opposite the desk, slouching boredly. Behind him Crowley put his golf club away and mopped at his brow with a handkerchief.   
“I'm not built for the heat. It's ridiculous, we need air conditioning in here. I was specifically promised air conditioning when I took this job.”  
Crowley sat down and ran a hand over his head. Dean just shrugged and watched him in silence until Crowley was good and ready to get to business.  
  
“Well?”  
“Well what?” Dean shifted slightly, he was starting to sense one of Crowley's little traps again. “you called me in here, man.”  
“Yes that's true Dean, but,” Crowley coughed into his fist, “this is the first time you've been here that you haven't had something to complain about. I wanted to get it out of the way early so- what's crawled up your arse this week?”  
“Uh... nothing, actually.”  
“Nothing.”  
“Yeah. Things are actually going pretty good.”  
“Dean Winchester,” Crowley leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head, “could it be that you're actually happy with your lot in life, for once?”  
“I dunno about that, it's just... things are going pretty good, you know?”  
“I've heard little whispers here and there, apparently you've been quite the good Samaritan for young Castiel.”  
“Yeah,” Dean agreed non-committally, “and he's getting better, too.”  
“Wait- better?”  
“Sure, he's talking more. To me, anyway, and I figure in time he'll get better.”  
“Hold on a moment,” Crowley put his hands together and touched the tips of his index fingers to his lips while he considered this, “you're talking like you're going to just fix him.”  
“Isn't that the whole point of all this?”  
“Is it? Dean, you can't just fix this, he's not a car with bad brakes you can just swap.”  
“Well sure, I mean, I get that, but he's getting better, right?”  
“What, so you think that a couple of weeks of this and Castiel is going to go skipping off to school every morning with a song in his heart and a pocket full of wishes?”  
Dean was already blushing with chagrin and shook his head.  
“Forget I said anything,”  
“No I won't forget. Frankly, Dean, I'm incredulous. Look at me, look at my incredulous face. I asked you to provide a little company, a little friendship-”  
“You said make a connection,”  
“That too. And you did it- good boy, pat on the head. But that's where your job ends. Castiel isn't going to just get better because he's not sick, he's different and he always will be.”  
“I don't-”  
“You don't get a choice! What did you think, the power of friendship would make everything work out? Sorry, Dean, but we're not living in that world.”  
“So what was this whole thing, just a trick?”  
“Not a trick, I never trick people. That's beneath me. I made a deal with you Dean, and you've played your part.”  
  
Crowley took out a paper from his desk, the contract that Dean had seen before, and showed it to him. At the bottom of the page there was a neat signature. Dean raised his eyebrows as he read it.  
“How long has that been signed?”  
“I signed it the moment you showed me you were taking this seriously.”  
Crowley put the paper into an envelope and passed it over to Dean.  
“Take it.”  
Dean looked at his hand, then at the envelope.  
“I don't know I want it right now.”  
“It's not like this is anything more then a formality, Dean. Your term of community service is over, whether you like it or not.”  
“Whatever you say, I guess.”  
  
Crowley got up and went to his golf bag, selecting another club and examining it thoughtfully.  
“I never liked golf, you know.”  
“So why play it?”  
“Because you have to play the game, Dean. Like it or not, you have to play.”  
“Is this supposed to be, like, another of your little lessons?”  
Crowley lined up a swing thoughtfully and the head of the golf club arced up perfectly. He nodded in satisfaction.  
“No lesson. I think we're past that, eh?”  
“So that's it? You sign a piece of paper, and I'm done just like that? What happened to society, the court, law and order. All that stuff?”  
Crowley shaded his eyes with his hand and stared out of the window, as if following the path of an invisible golf ball.  
“Dean, what do you think the law is made of?”  
Dean rolled his eyes and thought back.  
“Contracts?”  
“Understandings. Try to keep up, it's like you're not even listening and I'm putting out solid gold one hundred percent wisdom. Understandings. You and me, we had an understanding between us, and you've fulfilled your half of it perfectly. So you're done, Dean.”  
“Yeah, whatever. At least I don't got to worry about you any more.” He stood up and went to the door, “it's been real.”  
  
Crowley watched him go and waited until Dean had a hand upon the door.  
“Oh, one last thing.”  
Dean cringed slightly, and just stayed still. Crowley pointed the gold club at him, sighting down the shaft.  
“What is it?”  
“Try to stay out of trouble.”  
“Sure, whatever man.”  
  
\- - -  
  
Dean sat on the wall outside of school, and waited patiently for Castiel to emerge from the library. Castiel trudged up to him and pulled to a halt, watching him warily.  
“Dean.”  
“Cas. How are you doing?”  
Castiel just shrugged. He looked like he wanted to get moving, and Dean obliged him by slouching off of the wall and they set off together.  
“Hey man, can I ask you something?”  
“Dean?”  
“Do you think,” Dean grasped for words, he wasn't really sure what he was trying to ask, “does any of this make a difference, to you?”  
“Uhm-m.”  
“I mean, like, do you feel different now? Are you getting better?”  
“This is better.”  
“I know, I know, I told you that though. What do you think?”  
“Dean?”  
“Don't just tell me something I told you back at me, what do you really think yourself?”  
Castiel gave this a considerable amount of thought. He stopped and looked around, taking in everything around him for a moment and then fixing Dean with a look.  
“It's... good.”  
Dean hesitated, and spread his arms wide, “that's all you got to say? It's good?”  
“It's good.”  
“Hell, I guess I'll take that.”  
  
They started walking again. Above them the leaves were making a constant hiss in the wind. They had become stiff and brown by the passing of summer and soon fall would come.  
“Hey, Cas?”  
“Dean.”  
“What's it like being an angel, anyway?”  
“I don't know. What's it like being human?”  
“You look pretty human to me.”  
“This is just a vessel.”  
“Oh, yeah that's right. You said.”  
The trudged on and Dean thrust his hands into his pockets, collar turned up against the wind. Castiel  was silent for a long time as they made their way across the town and up the hill towards where his family lived. Finally, as if remembering something, he turned and addressed Dean.  
“My true form is the size of your Chystler building.”  
“It is?”  
“Approximately.”  
His expression was so sincere, so earnest and open, that Dean couldn't help but to crack a smile.  
“You're a strange guy, Castiel.”  
They set off again, Castiel to his home on the hill and Dean to the ramshackle little house, where both of their brothers waited for them.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of fun to write, and as so often in life there really aren't any answers, things don't ever really end. Many thanks to all who read it, I'll do more stuff if there's a wish for it. :)


End file.
